


Rock Bottom

by ch19777



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheating, F/M, Friendship, Hurt, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch19777/pseuds/ch19777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisbon finds herself in a very uncomfortable situation; AU - "She is lying; it is love that got her into this mess."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Paint It Red March monthly challenge with the prompt "Surrender".
> 
> For tromana, who should know why. *smirks*

_Falling's not the problem  
When I'm falling I'm at peace  
It's only when I hit the ground  
It causes all the grief _  
\- Falling, Florence + the Machine

The doorbell rings, twice. Maybe it's the mailman. Jehovah's witnesses. Or someone else she isn't ready to see right now. Lisbon turns off the faucet, walks to the window and peers out at the deserted street. Before she can lean forward to be able to see the door, it rings again.

Hastily, she slips into her shirt. Her hair is a mess. She didn't even have time yet to shower, to wash the night off her body. Another ringing, then a knock. Retrieving her jeans from the kitchen floor, she is suddenly sure that her early visitor can only be Jane. Jane who forgot something at her place. Or who already missed her as soon as he reached his car and couldn't stand the thought to drive home.

Lisbon tears open the door. Outside waits disillusion. And Angela, purse in one hand and cigarette in the other.

"Good morning! Is this a bad time?"

Fully aware of her own disheveled appearance, Lisbon stares at the other woman who's neatly styled as always. Only the cigarette tarnishes the overall image a little; Angela only smokes when she's upset.

"Did you...?" Lisbon bites her tongue to stop herself from asking if Angela did happen to run into Jane in front of her house. If this were the case, Angela would hardly be standing here so patiently.

"Did I what?" Angela asks, wary now.

Lisbon notices that her eyes are red-rimmed, that the usually perfectly applied eyeliner is a little smudgy today.

"Um... did you cry?" She hesitates, realizes that her friend will expect her to offer comfort that she just isn't able to convey this morning.

"Patrick didn't come home all night."

Angela's hand trembles when she stubs out the cigarette at the door frame. Not noticing Lisbon's consternation, or simply ignoring it, she throws herself at her. Clings to her, sobs, until Lisbon stops worrying about how to hold her or what to say to her. She lets Angela tug at her, at her shirt. Mechanically she strokes her hair, let's her rest her cheek on her bared shoulder. Endures the nauseating smell of cold cigarette smoke until the sobbing subsides and she only feels Angela's tears running down her chest.

Jane kissed her there, last night. Mumbled with wet lips against her skin, they both forgetting that Angela even exists.

A wave of panic shoots through her.

Angela will smell him on her. She will find traces of him all over her body and will follow them.

Kiss by kiss.

Caress by caress.

Her face against Lisbon's neck, Angela sniffles. She will detect Jane on her skin and in her hair.

His nudity.

His lust.

His desire for Lisbon that, until five months ago, might still have been aimed at her.

Maybe Angela will even sense how Jane buried his face in her hair, how she wrapped her legs tightly around his body.

Angela squirms in her arms; Lisbon can feel her inner turmoil. Yet her friend doesn't say anything and second by second that passes in complete silence, Lisbon calms down. She's being ridiculous; Angela can't know what she did with her husband last night.

Or two days ago.

Or last week.

And she's so puffy from crying right now that her sense of smell can't be that great either. Yet the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one she always has lately in Angela's presence, remains.

When Angela finally ends their embrace and steps into the apartment, Lisbon instinctively checks the room for hints at the affair. There's the teapot on the table and one cup, that's probably still warm, is next to it. She looks for cup number two – his, or hers, lifted and then mindlessly placed somewhere – and finds it on the floor. Right beside it, there's a tiny, red something. It takes a while before she recognizes it as a shred of condom wrapper. A step to the side, and her legs are hiding the evidence.

Angela is oblivious, is busy fishing a tissue out of her purse. She sinks into a chair. Vulnerable, she appears, not at all the strong woman Lisbon always considered her to be. Unable to do or say anything else, Lisbon bends down to pick up the cup and with it the incriminating piece of red foil.

"Do you want some tea?"

_It's like a hug in a cup._

Jane's voice in her mind and his wife's eyes on her face, Lisbon begins to move backwards toward the kitchen.

"I know you never really trusted Patrick," Angela states.

She begins sobbing again and Lisbon is reminded of her first encounter with Jane. Arrogant bastard, she'd labeled him back then. But that was a long time ago. Long before she became friends with Angela, and even longer before she began being jealous of Angela for being married to Jane.

"Black or herbal tea?" Lisbon asks weakly and escapes to the kitchen before Angela even gets a chance to answer.

She fills the kettle, waits for the water to boil. An everyday activity as a brief distraction from an extraordinary situation.

When she joins Angela again, she still doesn't know how to proceed. She pours out tea for both of them to keep her hands from fidgeting. Sitting down on the armrest of Angela's chair, she tentatively puts an arm around her. Because that's what friends do. That's what's expected of her in this kind of situation.

She says Angela's name, almost tenderly, and reaches for her trembling hands. Angela stares straight ahead at the teapot, but doesn't seem to actually see anything. Maybe she envisions Jane instead, and the secret place where he spends his time when he isn't – like last night – at home with her.

Lisbon hands Angela a cup, unnerved by her stubborn silence.

"Thanks. You're always so nice to me," Angela whispers gratefully and makes Lisbon wish that she wasn't the one also causing her this pain.

"I guess you can't force someone to love you forever." She sounds composed now, as if accepting the tears and the heartache as a normal part of life.

Lisbon nods, numbly. Angela's eyes seem almost translucent, irritate her.

"No," she agrees, because she isn't able to come up with anything else to say, "you can't."

She doesn't want to think about why Jane stopped loving his wife, or if and why he loves her now instead, and she doesn't want Angela to speculate on this topic either.

"Last week I asked Patrick if he still loves me and he said no. Just like that."

Angela sips some tea. Her insistence to have this conversation stings like a knife. She leans back, stares at Lisbon. Helplessly? Knowingly?

"I need to go shopping for groceries."

A lie. An evident attempt to get rid of Angela, but she can't bring herself to care right now if she hurts her even more with her behavior. She needs to be alone.

Needs to talk to Jane, too.

Angela noisily blows her nose, then asks if she can come along. Lisbon looks away, can't stand her sight any longer. Her mere presence is painful. The reddened nose, her puffy eyes. All the obvious suffering _she_ is responsible for. Lisbon's skin itches. She can't tell Angela directly that she wants her to leave, struggles for composure while suggesting to have breakfast together somewhere. Being among other people might help her to at least keep the shame at bay that's beginning to spread out inside of her.

Somewhere along the way down the street Angela reaches for Lisbon's hand and squeezes it. A friendly gesture that should make her feel close to her, but instead she thinks of Jane and how him holding her hand has brought them here. She remembers that first time, the deceit in his eyes mirroring her own, yet both of them believing they could get away with this.

At a little café they drink coffee and Angela additionally chain-smokes. As long as they don't talk about Jane, they can still be friends and for a while Angela plays along nicely.

"I'm sure Patrick is cheating on me," Angela says eventually. "You know, the thing with Patrick is..."

Lisbon closes her eyes, tries to block out Angela's voice. She doesn't need to hear this, briefly contemplates telling her how it is for her to sleep with Jane just to shut her up. She wishes far away. Wonders what Jane is doing right now. What Angela will do when she sees him again. If that'll mean the end of their marriage or not.

Just then, a small miracle happens. The waiter clearing the table next to them accidentally knocks over Angela's still half-full cup. Finally she stops taking about Jane – about their marriage and the problems they are having for months now – and jumps up to dab at her coffee-soaked pants with a tissue.

Unexpectedly, Lisbon finds herself feeling sorry for Angela. Her protective instinct flaring up, she puts a reassuring hand on Angela's shoulder. Her shirt feels damp with perspiration, yet she embraces her tighter and snaps at the waiter to at least apologize. For a moment Angela is her friend again, the one she shares secrets with. The one she is always there for.

But Angela doesn't need her. Her eyes shine. Confidently she stands there and dismisses the waiter, then looks at Lisbon.

"I should probably go home, maybe Patrick is back meanwhile. Maybe I'm overreacting, after all."

Lisbon doesn't know what to tell her, so she just sits back down. She feels defeated, though nothing has really changed today. Angela lights another cigarette, blows the smoke out through her nose.

"I spent last night with someone, Angela. That's why I'm so... distracted today," she says for reasons unknown to her.

Angela smiles at her, cordially and expectantly. She probably thinks that everything is right between them again.

"So, you fell in love with someone?"

"I'm not talking about love. It doesn't always have to be about love."

However, she is lying; it _is_ love that got her into this mess.

She can't talk to Angela any more, tries to convince herself that she doesn't need her friendship. Unshed tears are burning in her eyes. The door opens. More people flock in, chatting and laughing. Angela grabs her jacket. In a few seconds she will kiss Lisbon lightly on the cheek and leave.

Lisbon feels herself giving up, suddenly can't bear this charade any longer. Before she is able to decide if what she's about to do is coward or brave or maybe a bit of both, she covers Angela's hand with her own and waits until her friend is facing her again. She needs her full attention for this confession, doesn't want to shy away from recognizing the moment they stop being friends in her eyes.

"Angela, there's something you should know."

__**The End**


End file.
